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Everyone agreed on one thing.
The Eden Academy cafeteria had never been quieter.
Not because it was peaceful — no, absolutely not — but because about twenty students had simultaneously realised they were witnessing something and did not want to miss a single second of it.
At the center of the disturbance sat Damian Desmond.
He was mid-lecture.
“And I’m saying,” Damian continued, pointing sharply at his untouched fork, “that if you steal someone’s dessert, you at least have the decency to pretend you regret it.”
Across from him, Anya Forger hummed happily, legs swinging beneath the table as she licked chocolate frosting off her thumb with deliberate slowness.
“I regret nothing,” she said cheerfully.
Damian stared.
Hard.
“That,” he said, voice tight, “was my tiramisu.”
“You were talking,” Anya replied, shrugging. “You snooze, you lose.”
“I was not snoozing. I was making a point.”
She scooped another bite with his fork. “It wasn’t a very good point.”
Ewen, seated two chairs down, leaned toward Emile and whispered, “Are we… allowed to be this close to a murder?”
“They do this every day,” Emile muttered. “It’s like foreplay, but louder.”
Damian leaned forward, elbows on the table, eyes narrowed. “You ate half of it.”
“Correction,” Anya said sweetly. “I ate the good half.”
She popped the bite into her mouth and closed her eyes dramatically, savoring it.
Damian’s jaw clenched.
“Taste thief,” he snapped.
“Dessert hoarder.”
“Gremlin.”
“Desmond.”
That one landed.
Damian inhaled sharply. “Give it back.”
“You can’t give back eaten dessert.”
“You could try.”
She smiled. Slowly. Dangerously.
Chocolate frosting glistened faintly on her fingers.
The table — and most of the surrounding cafeteria — leaned in.
Anya tilted her head, studying Damian like she was contemplating a crime.
Then she lifted her hand and licked the frosting off her index finger, slow enough that Damian absolutely noticed.
His brain short-circuited.
“Want some?” she asked lightly, holding her finger out toward him.
The world paused.
Ewen choked on his drink.
Freddy, across the aisle, whispered, “Oh my god.”
Damian didn’t answer immediately.
He leaned in instead.
Just enough.
Close enough that Anya could smell his cologne — clean, expensive, unmistakably Desmond.
Close enough that the table felt too small, the room too loud, the air too thin.
He lifted a finger and tapped just under her jaw.
Gentle.
Intentional.
“You missed a spot,” Damian murmured.
Anya froze.
Actually froze.
Her eyes widened, breath hitching for exactly half a second before she recovered — but Damian saw it. He saw the moment her brain tripped over itself.
His mouth curved into a slow, infuriating smirk.
The cafeteria lost its mind.
“THEY’RE DATING,” someone hissed loudly.
“They’re NOT subtle,” another whispered.
Anya blinked, then shoved Damian’s shoulder hard enough to make him rock back in his chair.
“YOU ABSOLUTE MENACE.”
Damian laughed.
Laughed.
A real laugh — warm, surprised, and way too loud for Eden Academy decorum.
“Oh, come on,” he said, still grinning. “You offered.”
“I offered as a JOKE.”
“And I declined politely.”
“You leaned in like you were about to—”
“About to what?” he cut in innocently. “Accept dessert?”
She glared at him. “You’re insufferable.”
“You stole my tiramisu.”
“You deserved it.”
“Give me the fork.”
“No.”
“Anya.”
“No.”
He reached for the plate.
She slapped his hand.
Gasps erupted around them.
“Did she just—”
“Did he let her—”
Damian stared at his hand, then at her.
Slowly, he smiled again.
“Careful,” he said quietly. “People might think we’re together.”
She scoffed, cheeks warm. “Let them.”
And then she leaned over and stole the last bite.
That did it.
Damian stood abruptly. “Okay. That’s war.”
Anya grinned. “You’re dramatic.”
“You started it.”
“You breathed.”
“That was necessary.”
He reached for her dessert tray this time.
She squeaked and pulled it back.
“HEY.”
“Compensation.”
“You already ate your lunch!”
“I’m still emotionally wounded.”
They were halfway into a ridiculous tug-of-war over a pudding cup when Becky Blackbell appeared beside the table like an omen.
She looked between them once.
Twice.
Then sighed.
“Oh,” Becky said flatly. “So you’re flirting publicly again.”
“We are NOT flirting,” Damian snapped.
Anya nodded vigorously. “This is theft-based hostility.”
Becky blinked. “You just licked frosting off your fingers and offered it to him.”
“That was—”
“—banter,” Damian said at the same time.
Becky smiled.
The kind of smile that meant she was already planning their wedding.
“You know,” she said casually, “the seniors are running a pool on when you two will make it official.”
Damian stiffened. “There is no ‘official.’”
Anya shrugged. “What’s the prize?”
Becky beamed. “Front-row seats to the fallout.”
Damian groaned and dropped back into his chair. “I hate this school.”
Anya nudged his knee under the table. “You love it.”
He glanced at her.
She was smiling — smug, victorious, eyes bright with mischief and something softer underneath.
“…Maybe parts of it,” he admitted.
She smirked. “You still owe me dessert.”
“You stole mine.”
“Details.”
He leaned closer again, lowering his voice. “You’re lucky I’m generous.”
She tilted her head. “With dessert?”
“With you.”
Her breath caught.
Just a little.
Damian noticed.
And this time, he didn’t smirk.
He just smiled — small, satisfied, and entirely too fond.
Across the cafeteria, Ewen leaned back and muttered, “I give it three weeks.”
Emile shook his head. “They’ve been like this for years.”
Freddy sighed dreamily. “Love is dead and reborn at Eden Academy.”
And at the table, Anya Forger stole one last bite of Damian Desmond’s dessert —
—and Damian let her.